Author’s Note: I am a proud mom to Walter, a large and beautiful German Shepherd mix. Despite his tireless and irresistible 60-pound weight, he is an iconic cat. If you’re asking Walter, without him, I’d obviously be dead, or at least seriously injured by: a parked motorcycle, a potted fern, a pile of trash, and/or an abandoned skateboard. But of all the perceived dangers in Walter’s daily life, the most ironic (even patriotic) is the statue of Abraham Lincoln from the corner of our house.
Walter asked me to write this letter to our 16th president, partly because he lacked the opposite thumb needed to write, but mostly because he really wanted a new friend.
Dear Mr…. Lincoln, right?
stay. where. You. Do. I’m serious. If I hadn’t been to Salmon Street already, I’d be missing out on my pipe by now. literally. all over the place.
You don’t seem to be moving around much. You’re standing there, which in itself is weird. There are squirrels everywhere. Why don’t you chase them? Are you hungry or need a nap? You seem to be a really big version of my mom. She eats and sleeps all the time, just like me. This is why I love her so much.
It hurts that you don’t come over and say hello. Most people have the common courtesy to tell me how adorable I am. But you stand there silently, like a threat. So I’m watching you…and one dog park length between us.
Honestly, I’m just trying to protect my mom. Even if she laughs at me every time I bark. It’s like she doesn’t understand how creepy you are. Either, it seems, no one, it seems, because they all stare at us – as if I’m barking my head at you Stranger? i don’t get it.
I have to guard my mom. She’s a little lady, especially compared to you, and she has a pretty face! do you have a face Or is it empty? Not to beat a dead horse (there’s also a large, immobile horse a few blocks away, by the way), but can you eat? I don’t care if you’re the nicest guy in the world – if you don’t like food, I don’t trust you.
My mom insists you’re a great guy. It seems you may be a friend of Mr. Washington, the name of my sixth favorite garden. And do you know a guy named Alexander Hamilton? Because my mom used to sing about him a lot, and trying to get tickets for a show, he seems to be doing? If anything looks like you, it’s probably really boring.
Despite all my questions, my fears, and the dread, I just want to be your friend. I can understand why you didn’t sneak out of your base to say hi to me. I guess I wouldn’t like it if strangers walked into my house and barked at me. (Although I’m still not sure if you have a real face.) But I think we might become friends. Besides, my mom looks just like you and honestly, she could use a new friend. (I didn’t like her old diner – and he ate and slept a lot and definitely had a face).
We don’t live very far. Maybe you can come and introduce yourself one of these days. I promise I won’t bark too much or ask any more questions about your face. I was told they are both very rude.
Your move, Mr. Lincoln.
Your new friend (I hope), Walter
This BarkPost has been another stinking piece, updated every week!
